A Geek walks into a bar
by WriterKos
Summary: McGee meets a stranger who will change his world. First in the Joy Buchanan series. REVISED AND EDITED JUNE/2012.
1. A Geek walks into a bar

a/n: After the 2012 purge, I decided to edit and revise my stories before posting them again in other sites beside FF NET. So don't be surprised in seeing some changes on the stories.

Now all my fics will be available at Archive of Our Own as well as Oufanfiction dot net. You could follow me in Twitter WriterKos or in Facebook: Writerkos fanfiction

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**_Title: A geek walks into a bar_**  
**_Author: WriterKos_**  
**_Rating: T_**  
**_Parings: McGee/OFC_**  
**_Characters: McGee, _**  
**_Genres: Drama, Romance, Character Study_**  
**_Warnings: Mentions of sex_**  
**_Summary: McGee meets a stranger who will change his world forever. First in the Joy Buchanan series. _**

**_PROLOGUE_**

After a breakneck day in NCIS, Special Agent McGee decides out of the blue to relax in a bar. Even though he is not a heavy drinker, he does occasionally enjoy a beer with his colleague and friend Tony DiNozzo or even engages into a team evening with Ziva and Abby after a gruesome case.

However today he decides to go on his own. He stops his Porsche close to the bar where the team usually meets on Fridays off, walks to the door and takes a seat on the bar counter besides a young woman sitting ramrod straight staring at glass of vodka on ice. He glances at her and gives her a brief nod which she stiffly reciprocates without looking in his direction.

After glancing at the menu for a few seconds, he finally decides on a Cuba Libre and makes his order. While he looks around the bar he is surprised when the stranger interrupts his thoughts.

"You are not a drinker."

The stranger says with conviction yet without lifting her gaze from the ice slowly melting in her glass.

McGee had to blink at that. "Excuse me?"

The stranger doesn't raise her gaze from the cup in her hands when she answers.

"You are not a drinker and whenever you do drink, Cuba Libre is not your drink of choice."

Tim turns on his seat and really looks at the stranger. Late twenties to early thirties, she had long wavy hair past her neck in a simple twisted pigtail which reminded him a little of Ziva's hair; natural tanned skin that proclaims that somewhere in her past one of her forefathers were latino descendants and a melodic accent that identified her as someone who had spent a good portion of her life in the West Coast. However what really struck a chord in him about the stranger was how tense her shoulders were, how her fingers were tightly holding the vodka glass and the sadness that seemed to pour out of her every pore.

"No, I'm not a drinker." McGee says after a few seconds of contemplation. "But then, neither are you." It was an educated guess from his part.

But he holds back a tiny smile when after a contemplative pause he sees the stranger silently agreeing with a nod. However, before McGee can say anything else to the stranger who had picked his curiosity, a very loud drunk pops on the other side of the woman and tries to pick her up.

"Hey beauty, what a babe like you is doing alone in a place like this, let me pay you a drink."

The drunkard grins as he puts a hand on her shoulder.

She immediately tenses at his invasion of her privacy and space, even more than before as if that was even possible, and very slowly turns on her chair towards the drunk man and whispers in a menacingly voice.

"If you value your hand, you will remove it now".

Apparently the drunk ignores her threat and tries again to say something inconvenient but she stands up, catches his hand and twists it painfully behind his back, forcing him face first against the counter.

"I'll count until three and when I reach three I'll let you go and I expect you to get lost otherwise I'll wipe the floor with your face. Are we understood?"

She forced his arm against his back, almost to the breaking point.

Whimpering, the drunk man nodded against the polished surface of the counter. "Yes ma'am. My arm, please. My arm…"

Having received the message, the drunk is released and he goes away.

"Ok ok, if you wanna stay with the geek, it is your choice."

When he thinks he is out of hearing distance, he murmurs back at the woman who had just humiliated him. "Bitch."

McGee watches the scene happen before his own eyes without saying a word or moving a muscle, silently observing as the woman comes back to her seat and how she struggles to regain a good grasp of her emotions again.

She is visibly trembling, either of rage or some other dark emotion, he doesn't know. But it's obvious that she's not okay.

"So… Bad day, uh?" He asks lightly, turning on his seat and distractedly glancing to the sports channel on the big TV behind the counter.

"Bad year." She admits in a whisper.

She dares to throw a sideway glance at him before chuckling lightly. There is a very tiny smile on her face, but McGee can see that it does not reach her eyes and at every breath she takes she is trying very hard not to cry.

His drink finally arrives and, after a moment of hesitation, he raises his glass in a toast in her direction.

"I propose a toast."

"A toast?" She sounds mildly interested for the first time since they both started talking.

"Yep."

She turns in her seat and for the first time he had a perfect view of her face. He looks into her eyes and thinks that she does have gorgeous eyes: big doe like eyes, surrounded by the type of eyelashes girls usually spend fortunes to have.

"What kind of toast?" She shakes lightly the ice in her glass, her eyes never leaving his face.

"To a better year." He offers with a tiny smile.

He feels a flutter in his chest when she smiles – really smiles – and raises her own glass.

"To a better year."

They reverently touch their glasses in the air and sip their drinks, throwing sideway glances to each other as they drink.

Two hours later, hands are desperately trying to find the keys somewhere in the front pockets of a man's trousers. Once found, one hand struggles to fit the right key into the lock while the other one holds firmly silky strands of hair, trying to find a better angle for a desperate attack of mouth and tongue.

The door finally opens and two forms stumble into the small apartment without disengaging from each other. The man closes the door with one of his feet and twists his upper body so he may support the woman against the door while he attacks voraciously her neck. She is petite close to him and, in order to give him better access, she jumps and wraps her legs around his waist. He moans at the close contact but doesn't stop his attack, mercilessly sucking and biting the smooth skin he can reach.

"I don't usually do this." His voice is muffed by her neck as he mutters against her skin.

"Uhm?" Her brain is on standstill, not fully able to grasp what he had just said.

McGee stops the attack on her neck and looks at her face for a second. Her big brown eyes are smoky and the sadness that had been present in them during the whole evening is temporarily gone.

"I don't usually pick strangers on bars." He explains again as he struggles to juggle her body against the hard wood of the door and his own hard body. Pun intended. "I don't usually do one night stands."

She pauses for a second, breathing deeply and processing the info he had just given her.

She finally smiles and leans towards him so she may kiss him.

"Four years." She plants a soft kiss on his neck. "Seven months." Next kiss is on his lips. "Seventeen days." Now she leans and gives him another breathtaking kiss, her tongue invading his mouth and touching his teeth and tongue, dueling and making him weak on his knees. "Fourteen hours West Coast time."

McGee's brain tries to process the info along with the stimuli and takes him some seconds to question her between their kisses.

"Four years since what?" He whispers, sighing as she lightly bites his neck.

"Since the last time I've had sex." She shrugs. "Consensual sex, at least."

They keep on kissing and McGee suddenly stops, grabs her shoulder and pushes her torso away so he can stare at her face asking astonished:

"Four years?" His voice is loaded with incredulity and high pitched as he struggles to process such information. How a gorgeous woman like that stayed alone for so long?

"Four years, seven months, seventeen days and…" She looks briefly at her watch, "…fourteen hours give or take." She smiles at his incredulous look. "LA time. I would have to redo the math for DC time."

"But… but…" She silences him with a small delicate finger lightly touching his full moist lips.

"Who is counting anyway?"

Both smile and resume their kissing. McGee gets a better grip of her body and carries her to his bedroom and closes the door.

And as they say, so it begins...


	2. Out of the Pit

a/n: Now all my fics will be available at Archive of Our Own as well as Oufanfiction dot net. All of them are under major editing to be reposted, so please be patient with me.

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**_Chapter 1: Out of the pit_**

**_As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being. - Carl Jung _**

Darkness.

Darkness is the first thing I truly remember.

In Italian, to give birth means to come into the light. We are conceived in darkness and through a very painful process we are brought into the light of the new world where we might live, love and learn.

However, even after I was born I stayed in darkness. I had no name, no wishes, no rights. I existed only to serve my Master's wishes. I was the Servant.

One of my main tasks a Servant was to dive in the Pit. The black endless Soul's Pit. It was a huge cold pond in my Master's propriety where He usually asked for answers from His Masters. There, swimming in those black waters, I would have terrifying visions of things that were, that are, and might come to be, and I was supposed to bring the answers to my Master. I had to dive and stay under until I had the answer He wanted. Otherwise spankings would be a certainty in my near future.

Of course, let's not forget that the Pit was also where he used to dump the bodies of those he had to kill during his many business ventures.  
The smell was extremely foul. Not that I had any chance or right to complain about it. I was, after all, only a Servant.

But time went by and one day something changed. Some men in cars with flashing blue and red lights came into Master's propriety and arrested Him and His minions. I had no idea what was happening as I was down under when they broke into the House. And one of those men, one with very little hair and a yellow trench coat, once he was told that a child was in the pond, he did not hesitate and dove into the black waters.

And for the first time ever someone dove into the pond and rescued me from the visions that held me under.

He took me out of the water, involved me in his trench coat and ordered a blanked to be brought to him. All the while he kept talking to me, asking me questions. And when I looked at him, it was the very first time that I felt something amazing. Something that would change my life and I would later on recognize as benchmarks in my life. There would be only two other times I would feel it again.

That was the first time I felt the reek of _purity_.


	3. First time

**_a/n: Major revision in all stories. Please stay tuned. Writerkos is also now at AO3 and our fanfiction dot net.  
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**_Chapter 2: First time_**

Things changed a lot after the man in the trench coat took me out of the Pit. Master was arrested and I was taken to a building where a nice lady with tired eyes kept asking me questions about my Master.

I did not say a word.

A Servant had no permission to speak, unless clearly granted by her Master. My Master was gone, so I had no idea how proceed in this new world that was opening itself before me.

The lady with tired eyes left the room where she had put me and spoke to someone I could not see in the corridor. Words like "mentally hindered", "autistic", "Post Traumatic something" were repeated a lot.

Meanwhile I just looked around this new place with curious eyes.

Then He came in. The man of the trench coat. However he was not using the trench coat anymore. He probably had to throw it away after the dive in the Pit.

He sat down in front of me on the other side of the table. I sat down on the tip of the chair and looked at his face.

He smiled at me.

I smiled back.

I imagined that he probably had no idea how good his soul smelt to me.

"Listen," he started as he fiddled with his thumbs over the table, nervously scratching one of his nails. "You do understand what I say, don't you?"

I smiled at him.

He smiled back.

"So… I know we've been through this before but bear with me. Let's do it again. What is your name?"

I kept on smiling at him as he threw questions at me which were left unanswered.

"How long have you lived with Mr. Swanson?"

"Do you remember your parents?"

"Are they alive?"

"You do understand that what he did to you and others was wrong. Very wrong."

Ah, his voice was very nice if you really paid attention to it. A little bit gruffly, as if he doesn't use it a lot.

"I want to help you, but you have to talk to me."

_No I do not. Don't you know that Servants only speak if given permission to talk?_

He sighed and scratched his bald head, the diffuse light of the room shining on the pale skin of his head like a mirror. "If you don't speak or at least give any sign that you understand what people are saying, things might get complicated once they put you in the system."

_How complicated?_

Something in my face must have given him a clue that I had no idea of what he was talking about, so he explained it in details to me.

"What will happen is the following: they are going to take you to this house, big house with a lot of children. You see that lady outside?"

He pointed to the lady with tired eyes. She must have felt our eyes on her as she waved her hand lightly to us.

"She is Ms. Doreen Thorn, she is the social worker on your case. She will take you to this big house full of children and there you will be able to play, to live a better life than the one you had in Mr. Swanson's house. And if you are a very lucky child, after you have spent some time in the foster care you might find a family that might take you in."

_Uhm?_

"Yeah, they might decide to adopt you. But the chances of that happening increase drastically if you start speaking."

The last sentence was enunciated very slowly, as if the slower he spoke the better chances I would decide to answer him back.

Silence.

"I know you're not autistic. I know you're not retarded." He paused. "Swanson was nothing but a perfectionist; he would never have kept you if you had any real or imagined defect. But you have to help me."

More silence.

"Will you help me?"

I silently nod. I would give him what he wanted.

He smiles, stands up and stretches his hand to me. I put my smaller hand into his and together we leave the room and walks towards the social worker outside.

"She promised to collaborate."

"Well that's a start. So dear, what's your name?"

I shake my head.

"What's your name, dear?"

I shake again, I look up at my hero and he interferes again on my behalf.

"She might not have one. Swanson wasn't very big on his care of her; he might have neglected her to the point of not naming her. Right, pumpkin?"

I look at him and nod.

"So we have to fix it, don't we?" The social worker says with a practiced smile on her face.

She holds out her hand and my hero puts my hand in hers. She starts dragging me to the exit, all the time talking about possible names for me and the people and the children I would meet in the house she was going to put me in. Before the end of the corridor I look back and see my hero looking at me with sad eyes. He waves his hand and that's the last image I have of him.

Mrs. Thorn did find me a nice foster family to live with. They had two other foster girls and a boy. They were indeed a nice family.

I only lasted there four months. I ran away in the beginning of spring.


	4. Second time

**_Chapter 3: Second time_**

The second time I felt it again, I was at a train station. I had been living on the streets for a couple of months since I had left the house Mrs. Thorn had put me in. The lady had a very screechy voice she used whenever she ordered us around to do chores and her mate had wandering hands.

Master indulged himself into many pleasures, but he was adamant that the Servant would not be used like that. I would help some of his household chores but I was specially separated for the Pit. His bedmates would never dive in the Pit.

I became a street urchin, living on petty theft and rest of food restaurants in the area would throw away. I found some shelters where they would serve hot soup some days of the week and they would always gladly give me a bowl and comment what a pity that such gorgeous angel had to live on the streets.

I never complained as long as they gave me food. It was even better when they left me use the showers and gave me some ratty (but clean) clothes.

But on that beautiful autumn day, as I was strolling on the busy tarmac trying to decide who should be my next victim, I felt it again. A mixture of wild roses and passion fruit flower, along with something that words could not possibly describe invaded my nostrils and made me pause.

My victim forgotten, I simply followed my nose. I came to a café on the station where a tall man was talking on a phone booth with his back to me. I could see he had tall shoulders, a thick head of hair and a soothing voice.

But the scent was simply intoxicating.

"Yes, darling, I got delayed at the conference so I am going home on the next train. Yes, it will arrive in Montana two hours later. No, I will just have a coffee while I wait. Give a kiss at the rug rats." Silence as whoever was in the line spoke for a few minutes and then he muttered, "I love you too, see ya in a couple of hours." and hung up. He put the phone down, turned around and saw me there standing.

"Hi."

_Fight or flight. Fight or flight._

"Is there any problem?"

_Run, idiot, run!_

"So…"

NCIS NCIS NCIS

Reverend Joseph Buchanan, retired Colonel of the United States Air Force, stood there looking at a small child, probably not older than ten. She had clothes that, even though clean, were clearly second hand. Her hair was on a ponytail, but the most striking feature were her deep brown eyes, which at that moment were looking at him with a doe on the headlights expression.

"So… bye."

He sidestepped her and started to walk away, but he did not take two steps before his heart felt constricted. He looked back and the child was at the same spot, looking at him as if he had just murdered her best friend. With a small prayer for guidance, he did not question his reasons, but simply followed what the Lord told him to do. He stopped and went back the child's side, lowered himself on one of his knees so he could be on her same height and offered in a soothing voice, afraid of spooking her.

"I have to wait for my train and I am planning on having some hot chocolate and cake. Would you like to join me?"

Reverend Buchanan would later say that it was one of the most amazing transformations he had ever seen. The little urchin opened a shy smile that shone through her eyes and warmed his heart, took a step forward and lifted her little hand to him.

He took her hand and led her to one of the tables, where they shared huge cups of delicious hot chocolate and two slices of cake.

She did not say a single word the whole time they sat there, but her smile was worth thousand words.

However, when he tried to buy a coffee in the train to Montana, he realized that had no money. The little urchin had stolen his wallet.


	5. Third time

**Chapter 4: Third time**

**_22 YEARS LATER_**

Washington DC is not a new city to me. I had to live here on my first two years of training and even before that during my backbreaking time in Quantico.  
I just never imagined or wanted to come back here the way and for the reasons I had to come now.

As little disgrace is no fun at all, I just found out two hours ago that the moving company misplaced my things. Instead of sending it to Olive Street NW, Georgetown, they sent it to Olive Street, Georgiatown, Minnesota. Yep.

Just my bloody luck.

So while I am here, on a bar like so many others in America, trying to find the meaning of love, life, stuff and everything on the bottom of my vodka on ice that I still have to take a taste of, I feel it again.

_Purity._

It wafts by me and I close my eyes, wondering why of all times this had to happen to me again. Just when I was feeling at lowest point in a long time in my existence.

I open my eyes and I am surprised to notice that the scent comes from a man who sits by my side. Not old, not young, he acknowledges my presence with a nod, which I politely reciprocate. I turn my eyes back to my drink but years of training are not to be ignored so I immediately start profiling him. Clean nails, no wedding ring, nice tailored jacket, not those extremely expensive but a nice one nonetheless, which fits his pale skin and light hair.

He has one of those faces that, regardless of how old he might get, it will always retain a part of his youth on it.

He asks for the drink menu and after some consideration chooses a Cuba Libre. My mind does not catch up with my mouth because before I tell myself to shut up I hear my own voice speaking.

"You are not a drinker."

He looks at me surprised and it is my turn to be surprised. Regardless of his age, he has the most soulful eyes I've ever seen, deep green pools that once directed at me simply freezes my brain.

"Excuse me?"

Duh. I should stop taking lessons from my brothers on how to irritate and alienate people. Be normal, be normal!

"You are not a drinker and whenever you do drink, Cuba Libre is not your drink of choice." I add and I immediately see a calculating and intelligent glint come to his eyes.

The green eyed stranger turns to me and start seizing my person. I have the opportunity to do the same to him. He is not as young as I first imagined, neither as innocent. There is a slight hardness in his soul once he studies me that only comes from deep suffering and that also makes me wonder how he can balance what he has seen with the purity I feel on him.

After a while, he must decided that I am not one of the crazy drunk chicks trying to pick strangers on a bar, like the blondie throwing herself out at the guy in the corner of the bar and answers with a smile.

"No, I'm not a drinker. But then, neither are you." He points to my vodka, now more ice than vodka as I have barely had taken a sip of it.

Gosh, I hate the stuff. I just wanted to drown my pain and my ghosts tonight and vodka seemed like a logical choice.

I refrain from verbally answering him and merely nod. The odds of anything else happening beyond this friendly conversation are close to null. But that does not stop my overactive brain of creating possible scenarios.

Who he is?

Where is he from?

What does he do?

After a few seconds of this I simply scream to my subconscious to shut up. I'm not a profiler anymore. No need to get all worked up for nothing.  
But my musings are cut short by the smell of alcohol and sweat which fouls the air on my other side.

"Hey beauty, what a babe like you is doing alone in a place like this, let me … "

I tune down the stranger and use my interrogation voice that made convicted murderers cry:

"If you value your hand, you will remove it NOW". The last word I pronounce it more forcefully, already calculating in my mind how much force would be needed to snap his fingers. He keeps on mumbling and I on a practiced movement catch his hand and twist it. He whimpers like a babe and he must see how close to the edge I am, as after a well placed threat of snapping his arm off he gives up and leaves muttering something.

I hear him calling me bitch once he thinks I can't hear him, but I simply ignore him and return to my vodka. And the green eyed man. I feel my eyes starting to tear up, but I refuse to let any to fall.

I had cried enough these last months to fill rivers.

I'm tired of crying.

"So… Bad day, uh?" He asks trying to start a conversation.

"Bad year." There's no sin in being nice to someone interesting, so I look at him and chuckle lightly.

His drink arrives and he immediately swirls the liquid in his hand, hypnotized by the contents in its glass recipient. I return my eyes to my own glass and accept that our conversation is over.

"I propose a toast."

What the… that was unexpected.

"A toast?"

"Yep." He drops the careless attitude and turns on his sit, facing me completely. His eyes slide over my face and fixate on my eyes. I try to look away but for some reason I can't hide myself and the more he looks at me, the more he really sees me. I struggle to put my barriers up but he has the uncanny ability to see through all my walls and reservations.

"To a better year." He murmurs, trying to break the tension.

"To a better year", I respond raising my glass.

We touch our glasses and sip our drinks.

NCIS NCIS NCIS

I don't think I can describe the next two hours.

We had a silent agreement not to say our last names. His name is Timothy, by the way, but he prefers Tim, but some close friends call him Timmy.

We talked about everything and nothing. Sports, politics, music, movies. We both suck at group sports, we had no real understanding on what the hell they are doing on the Senate, we like completely opposite types of music, and we are both absolutely crazy about Sci-Fi. He told me he is master in RPG and he even has a funny playing name, Elflord, elfling, something like that, and I told him of this time I went to the Lord of the Rings convention in Germany. He laughed himself in stitches when I described to him my father dressed up as Gandalf, my older brother dressed up as Saruman and my mother dressed up as Lady Galadriel waiting for a train in Dusseldorf.

He looked at his watch and sobered a little, it had been a pleasure but he had to work the following morning. I told him I had to leave as well and he gallantly offered to pay my tab which surprisingly had only one vodka glass and two bottles of water.

We walked outside the bar and I hailed a cab in the street. A gentleman to the core, he insisted on waiting until one of the crazy cabbies stopped for me.

Once it happened and I looked at him and thanked him sincerely as he had been a fresh breath of air in a long boring week. Hell, who am I kidding? He had been the only positive thing in months. I'm sincere enough to admit that to myself now. He rolled on the balls of his feet and shoved his hands on his pockets, and he shyly admitted that he too had had a great night.

I looked into his eyes and felt the most extreme case of brain freeze ever. I can speak eight languages fluently, but I could not utter a single word at that time.

The cabbie horned, extremely impatient. "Are you coming or not?"

We smiled at each other and I thought, why not, and leant over to kiss the side of his face.

His eyes became huge and for some reason he turned his face in the very last second. Our lips met. And whatever had been frozen in my heart and body melts. My body molded to his and my arms immediately surrounded his neck. I vaguely recognized that I folded my body into the taxi and dragged him with me inside.

"Where do you live?" I asked between kisses.

"Silver Spring", he managed to answer before kissing me again.

I took his head and brought it to my neck where he started leaving a path of kisses against my feverish skin and with the very last part of my functioning brain cells I turned to the taxi driver who was leering at us.

"Silver Spring. Drive."

After my order, the driver gave us a dirty smile but at least he kept his mouth shut and his thoughts for himself.

I don't remember the taxi ride. I just remember that it was short. Probably too short for the twenty dollar note we gave the driver, but we didn't want to wait for the change.

Before I situate myself I feel him pressing himself at me against the door of his apartment. I have no idea how we got inside. And to be sincere, I don't care.

I'm too short and he is quite tall, and he has to fold himself to simply hug me. I solve this little difference using all my ability of years at the gym to jump and support my weight around his waist.

He mumbles something which I do not understand.

He stops whatever he is doing on my neck (I never knew I was so sensitive there) and stares at my face, like he is looking for something, and repeats himself.

"I don't usually pick strangers on bars," he pauses nervously licking his lips. "I don't usually do one night stands."

I try to filter what he is saying, adding to what I know and what I feel about this man.

I smile and inform him of my situation.

It takes some seconds for him to process the information I just gave him, but I would be proud to think that it might be related to the kisses we were enjoying at the moment.

When he finally grasps what I've told him, his face is comical.

"Four years?"

I don't know if I should be flattered or bothered by the incredulity on his voice. I decide to lean on humor.

"But…"

I silence him with my finger on his moist full lips.

"Who is counting anyway?"

We smile and he carries me to his bedroom, where he proceeds to make me very welcome in DC.

Despite some heartbreaking and life-defining moments, we are finally finished, our bodies wet with our sweat and I can still feel his heart hammering wildly against my breasts. He lifts his upper torso and looks at me with the same astonishment I know is plastered in my face as I can sincerely say I have no idea of where all this emotion came from. He silently and reverently lean down and kisses the old scar on my right shoulder and newly healed one located little above my left breast. Two centimeters down and I would be singing with angels. He raises his head to looks at me with such care that I can't take it anymore and it's like some dam inside of me breaks and I can't hold it inside anymore.

I break down. Huge great sobs shake my body and regardless of how hard I try I can't stop them.

I cry for myself.

I cry for my family.

I cry for my friends.

I cry for the lives lost and for dreams and potential unfulfilled.

I cry for the destroyed lives I could not save, and the lives I've tried so hard but did not wish to be saved.

I cry for the team that for so long had been my family, but in the moment they need me most I was not there to back them up and to protect them. And because of that they were dead.

And I cry for that little girl who was taken from the Pit, grew up and was trained to slay dragons and walk on the brink of the abyss. We hunt monsters, but sometimes, if we are not careful enough, we become one of them.

He did not utter a word. He simply gathered me in his arms and let the storm pass. And for the first time in many months, I was given the chance to mourn and grieve.

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a/n: I'm editing and reposting all stories. This is the first of the Buchanan series. Cheers!

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


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